


Exes and Oh!s

by awed_frog



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh, Episode: s11e10 The Devil Is In The Details, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-15 09:03:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5779771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awed_frog/pseuds/awed_frog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He still remembers Cas telling him about it - it had been - <em>later</em> - when Dean had disappeared on them and Sam had thought he would be a demon forever and that would be it - they had ended up talking about him over the phone, and Sam had been a bit drunk and very blue, but he hadn’t forgotten the way Cas had seemingly changed the subject in the middle of the conversation - <em>April was my first</em>, he’d said. <em>Do these things really count?</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Exes and Oh!s

When Sam wakes up, the first thing he knows for sure is that he’s aroused. Like, really aroused. His dick is so hard it almost hurts. And this - waking up in the middle of the night and just - this hasn’t happened since - since -

_Jesus._

Sam stills his hand over his briefs and opens his eyes. It’s pitch black, but he can see the reddish glow of the alarm clock. Ten past three. 

With a sigh, he falls back into his pillow. He’s still unsettled, but his dick has started to behave again, which is definitely a relief, because Sam is not about to -

Because he’s sure he’s been dreaming about Lucifer. He doesn’t remember the details - he doesn’t remember any of it - but this is exactly what happened last time Lucifer was around - he’d do stuff to Sam’s mind, and Sam -

(In the beginning, it had been just cruel - Lucifer had Sam dreaming about Jess, about Madison - but by the end, it had gotten - _weird_. Sam will never trust his own body again, because he knows how easily it can be controlled and deceived, and that’s something else he can pin on the bloody Devil. Not that he’ll ever have a proper relationship ever again, not the way things are going now, but still.)

And this is his fault, really. He forgot his sleeping pills. As they were driving back, he’d told Dean he was fine, over and over. But Dean had still stopped in the first middle-sized town they’d found, and disappeared inside a pharmacy as Sam stared at the glove compartment in frustration and shame.

“Your brother enjoys fussing over you,” Cas had said from the back seat. “Let him.”

Sam had raised his eyes to the mirror, had seen Cas looking back at him. The angel looked like his normal self again, but he hadn’t offered to heal either of them. Sam had taken it as a sign of something wrong - he didn’t understand, not fully, what Rowena’s spell had done to Cas - and had decided not to press the issue. Those cuts did hurt like a bitch, though.

Dean, of course, hadn’t asked. He was always walking on eggshells around Cas these days - that blanket thing had had Sam roll his eyes so hard they’d almost fallen off - but, well, maybe Cas _was_ unwell, and Dean had been right to worry all along.

Sam reaches over. He finds the white pharmacy bag, empties the contents on his bed. There’s something for headaches and something else for nausea. He rummages for only a second in the dark before accepting he must have left the right pills in his jacket.

He sits up, and then he freezes as he realizes this means he’ll have to walk through the entire Bunker to get them. A cold, empty, mostly dark space. 

_Cas is here_ , he forces himself to think, but still, he doesn’t move.

Yes, Cas will probably be in his room, awake and ready to intervene if something goes wrong (but what the hell should go wrong?); or he’ll be up as well, making himself a cup of coffee in the kitchen (Dean had told him you aren’t supposed to have coffee at night, but Cas had sucked him into an argument, which Dean had lost). And this is the Bunker. Amara won’t come here any time soon (from what Dean has told them, she seems convinced Dean will go to her, if anything) and Lucifer is back in the Cage.

There is nothing to worry about.

Sam puts his feet on the floor, gives an annoyed hiss when he finds it freezing cold, then pushes himself up.

He can’t shake the sense of wrongness, though.

Hugging himself, he remembers Lucifer’s gaze on him in Amelia’s backyard. He’d never discussed this with Dean, not that Dean would have let him, but a horrible, vile part of him had actually been glad to hear Amelia’s husband had died in the war. That way, Sam could pretend they had something in common - that they had both lost someone, that people died and this is what happens and you need to move on, instead of doing things the Winchester way (the last time Dean had disappeared on him, Sam had summoned and killed two dozens demons before getting what he wanted). Because, well, Amelia had been doing things the right way, the human way - she’d been sad and lost; she’d been grieving. It was healthy. A necessary, inescapable life experience. Accepting Sam into her house and her bed had been part of that. It had felt good, for both of them.

And, of course, it didn’t matter that Sam never told Dean, because Lucifer knew anyway. Because Lucifer knows _everything_ about him.

(Because Lucifer knows him better than he knows himself.)

And waking up like that - hard and scared and ready to kill something - Sam had hoped to have forgotten what it even felt like, but, well.

Maybe Dean was right to insist on sleeping pills.

Shaking his head, Sam moves to the door. Before his hand is even on the handle, though, he hears voices from the other side. And because he was raised on paranoia and Lunchables, he decides to activate the vision runes instead of stepping outside.

Still shivering slightly, Sam raises his fingers to the top right corner of the door and presses down into the carved sigil. 

The door disappears.

Well, it’s still there, of course (Sam can feel the wood under his palm) but it’s also gone. The corridor beyond it is slightly lit, in that bluish gloom the Bunker’s lamps have at night, and Dean and Cas are standing only a few feet from him, in front of what Dean calls ‘the mancave’.

(It isn’t. It _really_ isn’t. It’s just a room like all the others, except Dean has pushed the double bed against the wall, covered it in pillows and placed a TV and an old DVD player on the desk. His collections so far consists in three Star Wars movies (episodes four, five and six), two Indiana Jones movies ( _Raiders of the Lost Ark_ and _The Last Crusade_ ), each and every Patrick Swayze movie under the sun (even _Dirty Dancing_ , and Sam will definitely _never_ go there), and a boxset of Old West stuff. Sam has been about to point out, many times, that most men would be perfectly satisfied with the _actual_ mancave they already live in - for fuck sake’s - there’s a classic cars collection, and entire rooms filled with weapons - but he knows it would be a fool’s quest, so in the end he’d always smiled and nodded whenever Dean mentioned it. One time, he’d even brought back a _Playboy_ foldout to decorate the place, but Dean had never found the time to put it up. Or so he’d said.)

“I should probably go to bed,” Dean says, but he doesn’t move.

Sam stares at him.

 _Oh God_ , he thinks. _It’s_ now _the moment? Is it happening?_

Because if it is, he _definitely_ doesn’t want any part of it. He’s seen enough of his brother’s naked body to last him a lifetime, thank you very much. In fact, he’s still not over that one time when he’d walked in and had seen -

“You should,” says Cas, and next, he takes a step closer to Dean, puts his left arm on Dean’s shoulder.

 _Okay, that’s it. I’m going back to bed_ , Sam thinks, vaguely. _And if can’t sleep, maybe I can -_

Anything. Literally _anything_ would do, because _anything_ sounds better than walk in the middle of this. Playing _Candy Crush Saga_ on his phone until he collapses; get started on that treaty on the soul by some medieval philosopher (parts of it are in some sort of German) that’s been sitting on his bedside table for weeks; also pounding his head against the wall, repeatedly and enthusiastically - that seems perfect, actually, because this -

“You should go to bed, Dean,” says Cas again, and then he moves his hand so now it’s not in a normal spot anymore - a _let’s pretend we’re just friends_ spot - now it’s between Dean’s neck and his shoulder, and if Dean doesn’t _do_ something, Sam is going to _kill_ him.

Because, well, can Cas be more obvious? Sam has watched the way they are around each other for years now, and he knows _exactly_ what Cas wants. _Anyone_ would. He remembers catching Charlie's eye the one time she'd been in the Bunker, and then looking away. Remembers that half conversation with Kevin - he'd only mentioned the thing at all because he'd been awake for twenty-eight hours straight, but still, it had been _pretty_ awkward. And Sam’s fairly sure - would bet his life on it, actually - that what Cas wants happens to be what _Dean_ wants, as well, and he doesn’t understand - Dean is the _actual_ human here, for fuck’s sake. The one who knows how these things are done. All Cas has managed to do in millions of years was not moving away when April had tried to kiss him.

He still remembers Cas telling him about it - it had been - _later_ \- when Dean had disappeared on them and Sam had thought he would be a demon forever and that would be it - they had ended up talking about him over the phone, and Sam had been a bit drunk and very blue, but he hadn’t forgotten the way Cas had seemingly changed the subject in the middle of the conversation - _April was my first_ , he’d said. _Do these things really count?_

Sam had lowered the bottle from his lips and frowned. Sure, Cas had always been dorky, but Sam had never known until then - never suspected - that Cas didn’t have any experience at all.

 _I don’t want her to be my first_ , Cas had continued, a bit maudlin. _Is there a way to undo it? Like, if I slept with a man next -_

Sam had lost the rest of that sentence, because he’d dropped the bottle and it had shattered on the floor and what the hell? What the actual _hell_?

 _That’s just life, man_ , he’d said, when he’d managed to speak again. _Your first time is supposed to be amazing and special, but it mostly sucks. And, you know, nobody stays with that person for their entire lives. So, no, it doesn’t matter all that much._

 _I guess you’re right_ , Cas had said, and Sam had been sure he’d been about to ask about Sam’s first time, or, even worse, Dean’s, and, yeah, Sam didn’t want to have that conversation, like, ever, so he’d changed the subject back to Dean (not that they’d ever talked about anything different; not really) and how to get to Crowley when Crowley so clearly didn’t want to be found.

But still, Dean doesn’t do anything. His eyes drop to Cas’ hand, then go back to Cas’ face, and he licks his lips; an unconscious, nervous gesture Sam has seen him do a thousand times.

 _Oh, come on_ , he thinks, not even aware that he has abandoned his ideas of getting away from the door - he just wants to see this _settled_ , for God’s sake, because it’s been bloody _years_ -

Cas brings his other hand up, cups Dean’s face. And still, Dean doesn’t move. And then, when Sam is seconds away from screaming in frustration, Cas finally does it - he dips his head in and is about kiss Dean - maybe he is already kissing Dean, Sam can’t sure from this angle - in any case, Dean closes his eyes and lets it happen.

And, yes, there’s definite kissing involved there - Sam sees Cas’ right hand snake into Dean’s short hair, and good thing he’s decided to do all the work here, because Dean is still rooted to the spot.

“Cas,” he says, when Cas lets him come out for air, and is his voice - trembling?

“No need to long for me,” Cas replies, in his usual matter-of-fact voice. “I am right here.”

 _Okay, I shouldn’t be watching this_ , thinks Sam, but he still doesn’t move. He feels - almost disconnected from reality, as it always tended to happen whenever Lucifer was around. Archangels can do almost anything, after all, and that part - the not knowing if what was around him was a dream, a memory, a vision, or actual reality - that had been the worse part of Lucifer’s interest in him. Worse than physical torture. Worse even than -

Sam closes his eyes, forces himself to remember that, whatever his dream had been about ( _This is the Sam Winchester that I remember. Bold, decisive, a solid B on the tongue action._ ), Lucifer is gone.

“Oh God,” says Dean, and now he’s - moaning?

Sam opens his eyes. So, okay, at least this is sorted, and now he can go back to bed and tomorrow they can figure out what to do next, or something. Yes. Good plan. Not a single dollar wasted on that Stanford education, Sam Winchester.

“What - what are you doing?”

What Cas is doing is palming Dean through his jeans.

_Right._

“Winning a bet,” Cas says, and Sam goes still.

“What?”

Dean is leaning back against the door behind him, and he looks too out of it to notice, but something is definitely wrong -

“You’re hard,” Cas says, a smile in his voice. “Ah! I _told_ him.”

Sam is about the step outside when Dean finally cottons up. Seemingly unable to push Cas away from him, he grabs his shirt instead.

“What are you talking about?” he asks, and then something shifts on his face. “You’re not _him_ ,” he says, and now he sounds - there is such primal hurt in his brother’s voice Sam feels a wave of rage washing over him.

“What gave it away?” Lucifer says, his focused expression melting into a wide smile. “Oh, right. Castiel would never kiss you, now, would he? He’s too much of a prude for that.”

Before Sam can act on his instincts, Lucifer’s left hand moves around Dean’s neck, and then contracts.

“But you - you’re always up for some fun, now, are you? Quite _literally_ so.”

What they need, thinks Sam, fighting against the storm of strong emotions warring inside him (anger, worry; complete and utter terror) is an angel banishing sigil. But while Lucifer doesn’t know where Sam is - if those squibbles on their ribs are still doing their job, that is - well, he’d be certain to smell Sam’s blood. He would be on him before he could ever _start_ the sigil, and then what? He’d surely kill them both.

On the other hand, Lucifer only pays attention to Sam. He’s always underestimated Dean; always considered him to be unimportant. Even when Dean had been Michael’s first choice, Lucifer had never bothered with him at all. Had never sought him out, either to kill him or to try and turn him. And once it had become clear Dean would never say yes to Michael, Lucifer had seemed to forget Dean even existed. So, yeah, if Sam could turn Lucifer’s attention away from Dean, Dean could get away - Dean could trace the sigil in his place.

“I’m doing him a favour, really,” says Lucifer, raising his arm higher, so that Dean’s feet leave the ground. “Such strong feelings for someone so small - Castiel has well and truly lost his way.”

The problem being, in order to get Lucifer’s attention, Sam has to get out there. That, Sam is sure, was Lucifer’s whole point. He could have snogged Dean anywhere, if that had been his purpose. Instead, here they are, right outside Sam's bedroom.

And Sam knows what he must do - can actually see the thing unfolding inside his head - but he can’t move, because this is Lucifer, and he can’t -

But there's no more time.

“Godspeed, Dean Winchester.”

“ _Wait_ ,” yells Sam, finally wrenching the door open. 

He’d intended to go straight for them, but when Lucifer turns around, Sam can see him so clearly - even if that’s Cas’ face, Cas’ eyes - that he freezes.

“Oh, did we wake you? I apologize,” he says, but his smile gets even wider.

“Let him go,” Sam forces out. “It’s me you want.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I don’t _want_ either of you.”

Still, his grip weakens a bit. Dean’s feet are touching the ground again, and he seems to be able to breathe, if only just.

“That vessel is empty. Even if it could hold you, it has no power.”

“What are you talking about? I love it. Look at the depressing mediocrity of it. It’s _perfect_.”

Sam tries to keep breathing. Lucifer is no longer trying to hide who he is, which means the corridor around them is now twenty degrees colder. Sam knows full well Jimmy Novak’s form is not what the archangel actually looks like, but, unlike how it happens with Cas - Sam can sometimes feel something coming off him, like a sort of warmth, but only when Cas is hurt or too tired to control his vessel properly - Lucifer’s presence is so heavy as to be disturbing. Sam doesn’t know if this is because of the bond they share, or if it's just an archangel thing. Or maybe Lucifer simply has no interest in trying. Sam has long suspected one of the reasons Cas tries so hard to look like a human is because he likes it (because he thinks it will freak Dean out if he doesn’t). Lucifer, on the other hand - well, he’s never hidden it, has it? How much he despises humans?

“It’s not. A human soul inside your vessel would make you ten times more powerful.”

Sam is reaching; guessing. What he knows is that angels crave human souls; that there is something special about them. That they can, on occasion, be used as a weapon. This is the whole reason Crowley works so hard so trick people into contracts, after all.

Lucifer frowns. 

“You were right,” Sam says, randomly - if he can get Lucifer focused on him, maybe they have a shot. “There are things I’m not willing to sacrifice, not anymore. I’ve gone soft.”

“Go on.”

“But I can go back to - to how I was. The thing is, can _you_?”

Incredibly - _mercifully_ \- it’s working. Lucifer finally takes his hand off Dean, turns to face Sam.

“What do you mean, Sammy?” he asks, and now is the moment to be even more careful, because, unlike Dean, Lucifer only uses this nickname when he’s starting to get angry; when he’s dropping his friend act and is _this_ close to remind Sam that he doesn’t, in the end, care for him at all.

“You want me to say yes, but I don’t know if you _can_ do what you promised. How can I be sure you can defeat the Darkness?”

Sam glances at Dean - his brother is still trying to stand up straight, but Sam sees his right hand go to the hidden blade in his belt - and then focuses on Lucifer again.

“I don’t need to prove myself to you.”

“You said I needed to be bold again - well, I’m taking your advice. I say you’re fucking _bluffing_. I say you can’t take her down.”

“Watch your tone,” says Lucifer, as he moves towards Sam.

Sam forces himself to remain exactly where he is.

“You were defeated once before. By Michael. And then you lived in the Cage for so long, you forgot what the real world was even like. And that’s how we defeated you again. I’m just one man, and I pushed you back inside the Cage. So how the _hell_ are you going to beat God’s own sister?”

“I said, watch your _tone_ ,” Lucifer repeats, and now he’s standing way too close, and the fact he’s wearing Cas’ body doesn’t matter at all, because there is such coldness and danger radiating from him Sam knows precisely whom he’s talking to, and can barely think straight, because he doesn’t remember what happened in the Cage - Cas took those memories from him - but he’s had nightmares about it, and this is what is most afraid of, what he knows he won’t recover from -

And yet he must push a little bit more. He must make Lucifer a little bit angrier.

“Show me what you are,” he says, and he tries to be coy about it, as if he really, truly wants to know; as if the perspective doesn’t fill him with dread, but with anticipation. “Show me what you _truly_ are. How _powerful_ you are.”

“It will kill you,” Lucifer says softly, and for a moment, it’s like he really _cares_ \- this is exactly the same act he pulled in the very beginning, when he’d insisted he was the only one watching out for Sam; the only one who understood.

And Sam is way more scared of the love he sees in his eyes than he ever was of the hatred.

“I am your rightful vessel,” he says, and his voice now comes out as a whisper. “It won’t kill me.”

Without another word, Lucifer reaches out and splays his hand right over Sam’s heart. He seems content, for a moment, to just touch Sam. He cocks his head to the side, smiles to himself - Sam knows he’s listening to his heart, because this is what he used to do, said it gave him pleasure to remember how little agency humans have over themselves, how they can’t even control the very muscle keeping them alive; had once admitted, though Sam always assumed he was lying, that a beating heart could convey the essence of what time was in a way nothing else could; that, as an immortal creature, time was meaningless to him, and he disliked the fact - disliked the idea there was a whole dimension he knew nothing about and couldn’t even comprehend.

Which is exactly what angels - what _Lucifer_ is to Sam. A whole other dimension of meaning. Something that could indeed kill him (something that wants to).

Before Sam can talk himself out of the insane idea, though, Lucifer breathes in, closes his eyes, and a whole world explodes inside Sam’s head. It’s a vast, wide desert, chillingly cold and incredibly beautiful. There are millions of stars revolving over his head, and their light is so bright it’s like day and night together. Before Sam can even take in the landscape around him, though, he understands it’s somehow not a landscape at all, but a sound - something hauntingly sad, and yet a terrible battle cry - something that gets so loud against his ears and mouth Sam is going to be sick, is going to die from the raw power of it -

And then everything is just gone, and Sam is back in the Bunker, on his knees on the cold floor, Dean’s hand tracing comforting circles on his back.

“He’s gone,” he says, and it’s clear from his voice this is not the first time he’s said the words; that he’s saying them to convince himself as much as Sam.

“We need to put - protections up,” Sam coughs, and then he tries to look up, but his head’s still spinning.

He grits his teeth, closes his eyes again.

“I’m not sure we have anything that can keep out an archangel,” he hears Dean saying. “But we can have a look. Otherwise, the best thing is to keep moving. He can’t find us, after all.”

“Are you okay?” Sam asks, and this time he manages to sit back without passing out.

“Of course I’m okay. You’re the one he has a beef with.”

Sam just looks at Dean, because, really, his brother is not going to get away with this. Not this time.

“He’s taken Cas,” he points out, and Dean clenches his jaw.

“He’s not _taken_ Cas,” he says, tersely. “Cas said yes to him. It’s different.”

Sam looks at the angry line which is Dean’s mouth, then at the wall behind him, now smeared with blood.

He wants to tell Dean he’s seen it. He wants to tell Dean he knows. Dean is the one who discovered the runic symbol in the first place, after all - he _has_ to know by now Sam could see them; _has_ to wonder when, exactly, Sam woke up. And it’s time they talked about this. Because Sam has a feeling it’s not just Cas - Sam is almost sure Dean has been hiding what is a big part of himself for _years_ now, and the whole thing is unfair. This is not something his brother should be ashamed of.

But, of course, Dean is Dean. Whatever happened between them, he’s still the older brother. And this is his business. If he doesn’t want to talk to Sam about it - fine. Sam’s spent enough time trying to kick down Dean’s walls when they were younger. He knows it’s a useless and painful task.

“He must know something we don’t,” he says instead, and Dean frowns.

“Or he’s a goddamn idiot,” he says, flatly. “One of the two.”

“Dean, Cas has led troops into battles for longer than the world even existed. If he thinks Lucifer is our only option, I say trust him. Let Lucifer destroy the Darkness, and we’ll deal about him taking over, you know, when it’s time to worry about that.”

Dean looks back at him. Sam has never noticed him getting older, because this is what happens when you see someone every day, but now, in this unhealthy bluish glow, he sees it - a few gray hairs on Dean’s temples, the faint lines around his eyes. Dean has been doing this since he was four, and he’s tired. A bit awkwardly, Sam reaches out, grasps his shoulder.

“We’ve always made it out,” he says, quietly. “It will be alright.” 

Dean shakes his head, unconvinced.

“How can you be sure Cas knew what he was doing?” he says. “Maybe Lucifer tricked him, like he did you last time.”

Sam hesitates for a split second, his hand contracting slightly on Dean’s shoulder.

“He knew you’d _hate_ him for this,” he says, “and he still did it. That’s how I'm sure.”

“Sam -”

“No, I mean it. Look what happened last time he made a deal behind your back. And this is so much worse - this is not Crowley, this is _Lucifer_ we’re talking about. I’m sure he thought he’d lose you over this, Dean, and he went ahead anyway. Because defeating the Darkness is the _only_ way to save the world - to save _you_.”

Dean averts his eyes.

“He’s a stupid bastard. Always was,” it’s all he says, but Sam can see it well enough - not matter what he thinks, Cas will _never_ lose Dean, because loving Cas - that’s what Dean is, what he’s been for a long time, and Sam still remembers when he first realized that, when he looked at his brother and thought in wonder, _Dean is in love_. What a relief it had been, the joy he’d felt to know that finally, after all that time, he wasn’t the centre of his brother’s world anymore. Because Dean’s love had been everything for him, had meant so much - still did: there’s _nothing_ he wouldn’t do for Dean - but seeing his brother start to desire a life of his own (to believe he had a right to it) - Sam will do _anything_ to ensure Dean has a shot at this.

“We’ll get him back,” he says, and his heart dents a little when Dean just bows his head, unwilling and unable to look at him. “I _promise_ you. We’ll get him back.”

“Yeah,” Dean says in the end, very softly; and still they both remain there, on the floor, in the dark, like children who’ve been sleepwalking and are now too scared and confused to go back to bed.

The Bunker is very silent around them, and Sam has to focus very hard to remember that this is reality, that they need to keep fighting; that fighting when you’re afraid (when you think you will lose) is the only moment when it really counts.

 _God, if you’re out there_ , Sam prays inside his head, _I haven’t given up on you. I don’t care if you don’t answer my prayers - if you hide behind the fucking Devil - I_ know _you’re out there. I have faith. I know that you can do all things, and that no purpose of yours can be thwarted_.

“Let’s go to bed,” says Dean, with a sigh.

They both stand up - Dean looks at the wall, perhaps wondering if it’s worth to clean it now - blood is a bitch to get out of any surface once it’s dry (perhaps just to hide his face from Sam) - and then turns around again, makes a vague gesture of farewell.

Without stopping to think about it, Sam steps forward and hugs him.

“Hey, stop it - you can’t do this when you’re not wearing any pants,” says Dean, against his shoulder; he’s also hugging back, though, hanging on to Sam’s ratty t-shirt for dear life, which is why Sam doesn’t let go; why he will never let go. Whatever happens next, they love each other. That is all they have, and yet it is a lot; and it will have to be enough.

**Author's Note:**

>  _I know that you can do all things, and that no purpose of yours can be thwarted._ \- Job, 42:2


End file.
